Fragments
by positively.ecstatic
Summary: Quinntana scraps. A little of everything probably. Nothing too sexual now, but maybe later.
1. Introduction

I really want to write more, and I really want to write Quinntana. I'm not really that good at keeping up with long, involved stories, and I really just want to write out some of the bits and pieces that come to mind when I let my mind wander.

So, in the spirit of the brilliant writer purrpickle and her "Scraps" and "Pieces" for Pezberry, I decided to start my own little place for the scenes that float my way.

So, if you've managed to make it onto here, I thank you and encourage you to read or review because, while that may not be why I'm writing, it is sort of why I'm publishing.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Glee. If I did, you can be assured that it would focus a lot more on these two.


	2. Ask Me Why

"Because I hate you."

"What?" Quinn was a little startled by the sudden appearance of the disembodied voice. She closed her locker door and found a very purposeful-looking Santana standing beside her.

"After I got you and Man Boobs caught, and after I stole Trouty Mouth…you said just one thing to me." Santana bit her lip and looked down, and when she met Quinn's gaze again her mind was clearly elsewhere. Quinn's best guess was that she was remembering the "just one thing" that had been said—quite vividly apparently.

"You looked at me with those pretty hazel eyes of yours getting all fucking glossy like they always do when you're breaking apart, and you whispered softly, 'why?'"

"Because you hate me?"

"Yeah. Because I hate you." Quinn stood there and waited as Santana's mind slowly returned to the hallway of McKinley High where they were standing. She'd known that they'd grown apart recently—actually, she'd known that they'd never been close in the first place—but Quinn had never believed that Santana actually hated her. Rather, she was more surprised to learn that the girl even cared enough about her existence to form true animosity towards her.

"Santana-"

"Because I hate you. Because I hate you so much that it's literally killing me, Quinn. Even saying your name right now makes me feel like throwing up. I hate you so much that I can't think when I see the obnoxious yellow light reflect off your stupid peroxide hair; I can't breathe when I smell that fucking lotion you wear; I can't see when I hear your raspy frog voice croaking across the room during Glee Club. I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone or anything."

Quinn stood speechless in front of her, unable to comprehend the words coming out of Santana's mouth.

"Ask me why." The blonde just stared at her; _what the fuck was going on?_

"You did it before. Do it again." Santana's voice sounded strange and throaty as she repeated, "Ask me why."

This time it was Santana's eyes glossing over with unspent tears as Quinn mouthed silently the one word demanded of her. "Why?"

"Because I love you. Because I love you so much that it's literally killing me, Quinn. Even saying your name right now makes me feel like throwing up. I love you so much that I can't think when I see the sunlight glowing off your blonde hair; I can't breathe when I smell the vanilla of the lotion sitting on your skin; I can't see when I hear the notes of your voice float across the room during Glee Club. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything."

Quinn's books dropped to the ground as Santana looked pleadingly into her eyes. After several uncomfortable moments, she turned and walked silently down the rows of lockers and into the crowds of people rushing home. She didn't run, but there was a rushed bounce in her sneakers that wasn't usually there.

"Oh," Quinn whispered to the Cheerio jacket disappearing in front of her. "I see."

She didn't realize she was crying until Santana was out the door.


	3. As You Wish

"Look at me, Quinn. You can tell me about your chastity club and pristine heterosexuality all you want, but you can't look me in the eyes and truthfully tell me that when I do this,"—_Santana gripped the blonde's hip with her left hand_—"or this,"—_she_ _ran the right one down Quinn's white, just-ironed dress and settled it on Ryan Seacrest's face_—"or this,"—_their bodies collided and soon Quinn's mouth was filled with the flavor of Sue's patented weight loss shake_—"your body doesn't burn up. Tell me you don't feel like Finnocence trying to run the Annual Lima Marathon."

Quinn looked into Santana's eyes and felt a painful tingle slide down her spine and settle in a place her bible study class taught her not to speak, talk, or think about.

"Fuck you."

"As you wish, princess."


End file.
